It’s one of those rare days when (where?) I actually know the date.
I used to be such a good typist and so eloquent before this.
Now, mistakes are unavoidable, and everything is hard and scary, even walking and talking.
Since I literally can’t form words with a pen and my hand anymore, I need to get my feelings out somehow, hence:
Yesterday, I was sick of being alive. What worries me, is that these thoughts could be a byproduct of cutting my medication (anxiety/depression) and maybe sometimes I can’t trust that my thoughts are my own?
I’ve been keeping a secret from literally everyone I know except the one person it involves, yet, it doesn’t feel so big, I think I’ve been continuing to go back because it allows me to say whatever I want to say for once in my life with seemingly no consequences, but I also have a tiny fear that it could end up seriously hurting me, no matter how vague I try to be.
Last updated October 19, 2022